


flower, flour, flourish

by pepperfield



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Baked Goods, Baker!Daichi, Childhood Friends, Delinquents, M/M, Too Many Paramedics, cameos from other characters - Freeform, florist!kuroo, plus a cameo from kurodai fan amaanogawa as concerned citizen #1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperfield/pseuds/pepperfield
Summary: Tetsu and Daichi used to rule the streets of Torono together, but fifteen years apart changes some things.Their feelings for one another isn't one of them.





	flower, flour, flourish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Justforbad_bros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justforbad_bros/gifts).



> Hello darling Chiara!! I'm your secret santa; sorry I was kind of late!! I tried to incorporate a bunch of different things you requested (tattoos, baking, MMA), but it's mostly baker!Daichi, and MMA turned into teenage delinquency instead, haha. I hope you like it anyway!! Happy holidays, my dear! ♥♥

The last time Daichi ever laid eyes on Tetsu, he was in the back of a squad car, face battered and his glare panther-dark. Daichi was kneeling on the hard pavement, wrists cuffed behind his back and ribs aching as he waited to be taken down to the precinct himself. Looking up took all of his effort, but he did it anyway so he could catch Tetsu’s attention one last time. Tetsu noticed him looking and mustered up the facsimile of a smile before mouthing something that Daichi couldn’t make out, before giving his signature three-finger salute even with the cuffs binding his wrists together. Even now, Daichi wonders what he was trying to say. The police car drove away soon after, and Daichi was left on his bruised knees, yelling at the cops to get their dirty fucking hands off of Yasushi and Eita. 

Maybe he should have forgotten this memory by now, pushed it back onto the shelves with the rest of that life he left behind as an angry teen, but Tetsu never did abide by the rules that everyone else did. It’s why he still lingers in Daichi’s dreams even now, over a decade later. Some days, Daichi entertains the thought of running into him again, but at the same time, he can’t imagine what he’d be like after all these years. Tetsu will just live on forever in Daichi’s memories at seventeen, clever and loyal and a whirlwind of carefully controlled force. Daichi never knew it then, but these days, when he says Tetsu had been his favorite rival, he probably also means that Tetsu had been his first love.

But that’s all in the past.

\--

Monday morning, 3:06 a.m. It isn’t raining outside, but there’s a mist in the air, leaving dewdrops in Daichi’s hair as he unlocks the door to Blackbird Bakery. The bell overhead jingles as he locks up behind him and heads toward the kitchen to begin his day.

It had taken Suga awhile to adjust to Daichi’s schedule once they’d decided to become roommates. Suga usually gets home from his shift around the same time that Daichi wakes up for the morning, and it’s rare that they actually get to see each other during the day. Daichi brings him leftover goodies from the shop for breakfast, and they can occasionally catch up for an hour or so before one of them is headed off to sleep or to work. Occasionally, if he’s covering someone else’s shift, he’ll stop into the bakery for lunch, since it’s located fairly close to the hospital, but some days, they don’t manage to cross paths at all.

Daichi wasn’t born a morning person, but he likes the quiet of the early hours, when the streets are dark and few cars pass sedately under the yellow glow of the scattered lamps along the way. In the back room of the shop there’s no one but himself and his craft, until Reon and Akaashi get in a half hour later. After turning on the radio, he gets to work starting on the croissant dough, humming along to the half-familiar tune.

Once Akaashi and Reon are in the back with him, preparing rolls and kneading bread dough amid gentle chatter about bad restaurants and bad group dates and sports, it feels like the day has really started, but it’s nowhere near lively until Kyoutani and Tora have arrived. By the time Blackbird opens, sunlight has begun to crest over the buildings across the street, and the store looks ready for another busy day, with its trays full of soft bread and the display case shining with glazed cakes and flaky cream-filled pastries.

Precisely at 6:30, the doors open, and with them comes the gentle flow of customers ready for their first cup of coffee and a treat for breakfast. 

As one of the head bakers, Daichi spends most of his time in the kitchen, cleaning and preparing when not baking something. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know a good number of their regulars, and whenever he crosses out of the back to fetch something from behind the counter, one of them will inevitably call out a cheery hello. Today, he spots some of the usual paramedics waiting in line for coffee, as well as Asahi typing furiously away on his laptop in the corner chair, looking like he’s desperate to meet a deadline. Daichi is tempted to go harass him, but he’s got a moment of rest before his pain au chocolat and matcha cakes are done, so he helps take out the trash that’s grown too full next to Misaki, who’s running the register.

He lugs the bag out back to the dumpster shared with the convenience store next door, and takes a moment to catch a breath of fresh air before heading back into the sweltering kitchen, leaning against the alleyway wall to people watch as they stroll down the avenue. He’s smiling at a couple of young children running past with a dog when his eye catches on a handsome young man striding toward a motorcycle parked outside the konbini. 

He’s got wild hair and a leather jacket, and a hint of a tattoo peeking out over his collarbone, but what really draws Daichi’s attention are his eyes, sparkling and sharp in a way that feels almost familiar. Daichi watches for a second longer as the man settles on the seat of his bike, and then looks up toward Daichi, as if he’s sensed that someone’s watching him. He gives a curious smile, and Daichi looks away quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring. After pointlessly dusting his hands off on his pants, he makes to turn back down the alleyway when he sees from the corner of his eye the man shoot a wink at him before putting his helmet on. Now completely mortified, Daichi powerwalks back to Blackbird and lets himself in through the back door, his heart still skittering. God, that guy had been good-looking. He was probably used to doofuses like Daichi gawking stupidly at him while out and about. 

“What’s with your expression?” Reon asks when Daichi stumbles back into the kitchen. He’s finishing a batch of strawberry filled cream puffs for the case and has wound up with a streak of powdered sugar on his forearm.

“I just...saw the most beautiful man?” Daichi says like a question, more confused than anything else.

“Who, the delivery driver? We see him every week.”

“What? No, not Iwaizumi-san,” Daichi says with a shake of his head. Reon laughs and places the sifter aside, coming to stand next to Daichi while he washes his hands. “It was this biker; he had this rockstar hair and tattoos.”

“I didn’t know that was your type.”

Daichi huffs and tosses his paper towels away. “It’s not even like that. I mean, he was handsome, but the weirdest thing was that I felt like maybe I’ve seen him somewhere before?”

“Could be he’s stopped in for a coffee before,” Reon suggests, and Daichi has to admit it’s the most logical conclusion.

“Yeah, probably. Hey, are the cream pan out of the oven yet?”

“I think Kentarou’s filling them now, actually. The birthday cake is almost done chilling, if you want to trade out with him.”

Daichi goes to switch jobs with Kyoutani, who’s a natural at cake decorating, and loses himself in the motions of filling the bread with custard cream, and by the time the lunch rush has come and gone, he’s got more on his mind to think about than the handsome stranger from this morning.

\--

“Snack break!” Saeko yells when Kuroo returns. She’s got loose petals in her hair somehow, and there are unused ribbons all over the workspace, but the bouquet in the vase looks more than passable.

“Practicing again?” Kuroo asks, leaning against the counter as he takes the box of cookies out of his backpack. Saeko usually works the register when she’s not making deliveries, but Akiteru’s been having her practice arrangements in her free time, and she’s not too shabby at it. She’s been at Moonflower for over a year now, and while the customers love her, it would be good if she could help put together some of the simple, common arrangements that they sell, in case someone’s ever out sick.

“Yeah, trying out a “get well soon” kinda thing. What do you think?”

“It’s good; nice use of the daisies here. I’ve got a few wedding orders coming up though, so we should probably switch jobs back. Here,” and he turns the box of cookies over to her. She rips it open and passes a cookie to him.

“Convenience store cookies again,” Kei says as pauses in the middle of watering to peek over, and even though it’s only four words, Kuroo can hear the judgment dripping from his tone.

“Hey, they’re fine,” Kuroo says through a mouthful, and Kei shakes his head. “Eat one!” He throws a wrapped cookie at Kei’s head, but the kid dodges away, laughing behind his hand.

“Good luck getting Bokuto-san to accept those. Didn’t he give you very specific demands? I don’t think cheap butter cookies will do.”

Ugh. The brat is right. Kuroo’s in charge of the joint snack run this month between Moonflower and the tattoo parlor next door, and none of his offerings have been acceptable yet. Bokuto’s lucky he’s been Kuroo’s friend for close to a decade, or Kuroo would’ve crammed a bag full of seaweed chips down his throat by now.

He slinks over to Just An Inkling with his butter cookies held in front of him like a shield, but when the doorbell overhead jingles, everyone in the shop not currently working swivels toward him simultaneously. Terrifying. Luckily, Bokuto’s in the middle of a job, so Kuroo can sneak over to Yachi, who’s reorganizing her station. He can feel Konoha’s eyes following him.

“H-hello, Kuroo-san! How are you today?” Yachi asks, stuttering even though Kuroo knows she isn’t actually scared of him anymore after all these years.

“Good, I’m good. Uh. These are for you guys; but some of you are clearly busy right now, so I’m just going to leave them here with you, okay?” He makes to sneak back out after giving her a salute, but Bokuto’s voice rings out across the shop before he can make it to the door.

“Yacchan, what did he bring us?”

“Convenience store butter cookies, Bokuto-san,” she says dutifully, carrying the box over to place it behind the front counter. Konoha begins yowling.

“Kuroo! What kind of bullshit is this?”

“Hey, I’m doing this for you out of the goodness of my heart, you know. Saeko and I thought they were fine!”

“I mean, nee-san will eat literally anything a raccoon would eat, so that’s not saying much,” Tanaka pipes up from his chair. He’s currently tattooing a fox onto a customer’s shoulder.

“Yacchan,” Bokuto says cheerfully, and Kuroo feels his blood run cold. “Can you tell Kuroo that he’s not allowed back in here until he starts bringing us something worth eating?”

“Uh- um, Kuroo-san, you’re not-” Yachi mumbles.

“Aw, c’mon, dude,” Kuroo whines as he stuffs his hands petulantly in his pockets. “I’m a paying customer too; you can’t ban me.”

“Not currently, you aren’t. Haven’t you been eating well the last six months because of us? Now it’s your turn. Bye, bro. See you when you’ve got the goods,” Bokuto says, and that’s the end of that. Tanaka shrugs at Kuroo as he exits the store.

Kuroo gets back to doing his actual, paying job, and it’s a good deal less stressful than buying snacks for the world’s pickiest tattoo artists. He’s damn good at floral arrangement, both for everyday uses, grand events, and the occasional ikebana order, and their clientele knows it. He and Akiteru have been doing this for long enough now that even though their shop is small, they can get enough business just through word of mouth. With careful hands, he places another orchid into the bride’s delicate bouquet, but his mind is wandering, thinking back to what he thinks was a bakery that he saw this morning.

He’ll go there tomorrow, and put an end to Bokuto’s complaining once and for all. There’s no way they can find some way to complain about fresh-baked pastries, those ungrateful louts.

\--

It’s seven thirty in the morning and Kuroo is in line at the bakery on his way in to work. It’s quite busy in here, and from the looks of it, many of the customers are regulars who stop in on their way to work. The place looks cozy, with many two person tables, as well several larger tables and some cushioned chairs for those who intend to stay longer. Kenma would probably like it here, if he ever left his room or did anything besides drawing his webcomic or playing video games. 

When it’s Kuroo’s turn, he orders a selection of various pastries for the ravenous monsters he calls his friends, as well as a coffee for himself. The two working behind the counter — an efficient girl with friendly eyes, and a young man with delicate features and strong arms — box up his food neatly with a smile, and he heads toward the door, holding the box so as not to jostle anything. He’ll have to be very careful when he straps the box to the back of his bike. The iced coffee he chugs like a demon, since there’s no cup holder on his bike, and he tosses the cup on his way past the trash bin.

Kuroo’s almost at the door when the kitchen door swings open and a baker steps out with a full tray of fresh rolls. He’s dressed in plain clothes and an apron, and there’s flour on his bare arms, but Kuroo remembers him from yesterday: the guy who was looking at him when he was getting ready to head back to Moonflower. Kuroo can see him more clearly now. He’s unfairly cute, with a strong jawline and kind brown eyes, and maybe Kuroo had a previously unknown thing for bakers, because hot damn, is the sight of him carrying a huge tray of bread like it’s feather-light doing something to Kuroo’s heartbeat. Kuroo should’ve done more than wink at him yesterday.

The baker begins loading the loaves into the shelf with steady hands, but he looks up when a pretty paramedic stops to talk to him. They must know each other, because his face lights with a smile when he sees her, and Kuroo feels all the blood in his body rushing to his head. There’s a familiar warmth to his smile that makes Kuroo’s heart twinge as if he should understand why, and he wonders for a moment if he’s seen this man before.

He doesn’t wonder for long, because the next thing he knows, he’s tripped over a potted plant and flown face-first into the door. Forehead meets steel with an impressive smack, and, as a fun little bonus, he manages to smash his box of pastries right between his chest and the glass. By the time he falls backwards and lands on his ass, there’s no dignity left to save.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” another customer asks, as a someone hurries over to his side. Vaguely, Kuroo registers several customers and employees looking at him in concern.

“Hey, buddy, take it easy,” a blond medic with several piercings says as he crouches down next to Kuroo. “Let me see that face.”

“How’s he looking, Teru?” asks another paramedic with wavy hair, looming over Kuroo while eating a croissant. It looks delicious, is the only thing Kuroo can think right now. Actually, he’s also hoping that the hot baker didn’t notice him just wipe out from sheer stupidity. A third medic — the pretty one with glasses who was standing by the cake display earlier — comes over to keep watch over him as well.

“Got a nice little bump swelling up on your forehead there. Follow my finger with your eyes.” Kuroo does so, and the medic nods, before shining a light in his eyes. Whatever he sees must satisfy him. “Okay, can you tell me what the date is, sir?”

“April 29th? 2019?”

“Good. Do you know where you are?”

“Um, a bakery. Blackbird, I think it’s called? Sorry, I’ve never been here before today.”

“Not a problem, you got it in one.”

“You should come back; the food here’s great. And maybe you can weasel some free coffee out of them for the trouble,” the other male medic says. The blond one nudges his partner with a roll of his eyes.

“Ignore Mattsun. He’s useless when he’s eating.”

Before Teru can continue his examination, two faces appear at the door that Kuroo just became too-intimately acquainted with, and peer down at them. Teru helps Kuroo shift so that they’re out of the way and no longer posing a fire hazard, and another two paramedics enter the bakery.

“Why are there so many of you?” Kuroo asks, baffled.

“This is the best bakery near the hospital,” says the one with a plain but kind face. His partner, short with pale hair, leans down to look at Kuroo’s bump. “Are you alright?” 

“Am I?” he asks Teru, who grins wryly at him and begins asking if he feels any dizziness.

With a coven of paramedics surrounding him, Kuroo is eventually deemed probably concussion free, and allowed to go on his way. But before he can leave before further embarrassing himself, the reason for Kuroo’s disastrous behavior comes hurrying over, holding a large pastry box.

“Wait, sir- wait a second,” he says, brandishing the box at Kuroo. “Please, these are for you. Misaki told me what you ordered; it should be the same,” he says, gesturing at Kuroo’s sad, flattened container. He looks so genuinely sorry that Kuroo feels even worse about his rather tragic showing just now. He’s also even more handsome up close. Urgh.

“No, it’s fine. That was my bad. I- uh, I should’ve been watching where I was going. Lesson learned,” he says with an awkward laugh, but the baker shakes his head. 

“I’m serious, it’s no problem at all. Here,” and he drops the box right on top of Kuroo’s squashed one. “I hope you feel better. Take care!” And then he speeds off before Kuroo can refuse. 

Stuck now holding several pounds of pastry, Kuroo retreats from the store before any more shame can be brought upon his family, and rides to work in a half-conscious haze.

The squished box, he leaves with Kei, who raises his eyebrows and leaves it next to the cash register.

“What did you do?” he asks, and Kuroo just shakes his head.

“I’ll explain later. Let me give these to Bo. I’ll- I will be back. Yeah.” He gives Kei some cross between a wave and finger guns, and gets a disgusted face in return.

“Okay...?”

The parlor is just opening up when Kuroo gets there, and there are apparently no early appointments today because everyone in the shop mobs Kuroo when he enters the building.

“This box, Kuroo-san,” Tanaka says with a suspicious kind of awe in his voice. “This looks like something too good to be true.”

“I put my life on the line to get this for you guys,” Kuroo tells them gravely. “The very least you could do is try it.”

The box is raided in approximately twelve seconds, leaving Kuroo milling by the front desk pointlessly as he awaits their judgment. Konoha is the first to break.

“I’ve gotta give it to you, Kuroo. All that crap you put us through was worth it for this.” He looks at the glistening lemon tart in his hands with an almost reverent happiness.

“Thank you so much, Kuroo-san!” Yachi says brightly, holding her an pan like a little chipmunk holding an acorn. Kuroo resists the urge to pat her on the head.

But the real challenge still lies ahead. Bokuto is munching on his melon pan at a studious rate, face tilted away from Kuroo so it’s hard to read his reaction until he spins around, eyes sparkling and energy up.

“ _Kuroo_! You did it, man! You found the greatest bakery in the whole city. I just wanted something that hasn’t been sitting on a shelf for three months, but you outdid yourself. I’m really proud of you.” He sniffles slightly, like an emotional parent. 

“Well, glad you liked it. Am I off the hook now?”

“Yeah! You’re officially forgiven. But tomorrow, do you think you could grab me a croissant too? And get Yacchan two of the an pan.”

“Yakisoba bread for me, thanks!” Tanaka says.

“What? No, I can never show my face there again.”

Bokuto shakes his head, as if he doesn’t comprehend. “But. But Kuroo. This is the best melon pan I’ve ever had in my life. I _need_ it again. Do you understand? I need you to go back.”

Kuroo shakes his head too, because they don’t get it. “Bo, I almost broke their front door with my face today. They felt so bad for my idiotic existence that they gave me free food. I can’t go back. That bridge is burned, sorry.”

Kuroo’s fought a fair number of people in his life, and rarely has he felt any fear while doing so, even when his own blood was dripping into his eyes and he could feel his ribs creaking under his skin. Maybe because those were his younger and wilder years, or because he was just that self-assured about his physical prowess. But Bokuto...kind-hearted, human sunshine Bokuto — with his strange, strange problems and his incomprehensible moods and his dead-eyed stare — frightens Kuroo like no other when he gets his mind stuck on something. Except maybe Kenma when he’s in a mood about deadlines.

That vacant, haunted expression settles on Bokuto’s face now, staring darkly through Kuroo and eviscerating him for all his sins.

“Have you eaten anything yet?” he asks, advancing toward Kuroo.

“What? Uh, no, I only had my coffee.”

“Try it.” Bokuto holds out the near empty box and brandishes it at Kuroo. “Eat this thing.” There’s a flaky looking thing with custard cream and little strawberry slices. Kuroo shrugs and plucks it out of the box before Bokuto tries to force feed him.

He takes one bite, and is shocked by the perfect combination of gentle crunch and sweet cream, sharpened by the slightest tartness from the fresh strawberries.

“Oh. Shit, this is really good.” He takes another bite.

“Yeah. Exactly. Look, I dunno what you did but it can’t be that bad. So you’ll go back, right? Pretty please?”

“Just say yes so he’ll shut up,” Konoha advises, and Kuroo finally nods.

“Alright, fine, until the end of my snack run. But! If I embarrass myself to death, you guys are paying for the funeral, got it?”

“Every expense,” Bokuto promises as he clasps Kuroo on the shoulder, and Kuroo is left to wonder if he’ll ever recover from today’s tribulations.

\--

“Ah, it’s [Mr. Bump](https://mrmen.fandom.com/wiki/Mr._Bump),” Matsukawa says, glancing over at the door. Daichi is exchanging idle chit chat and fixing himself a cup of coffee out front before he heads back to glaze some tarts. He looks in the direction that Matsukawa is nodding, and feels himself go slightly light-headed when he notices the clumsy customer from yesterday. He bids farewell to Matsukawa and hurries to get out of sight before the man makes it to the counter, because he’d given no indication that he’d recognized Daichi from when he was ogling him the other day, but there had been a lot going on, and Daichi can’t take that chance again.

“His forehead looks better,” Akaashi notices when Daichi hustles past him back into the kitchen. “Less bulbous and red.”

“Yep, it looks great,” Daichi babbles, and Akaashi gives him a small smile.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Daichi-san.”

Daichi escapes without being seen, but the customer is back the next day, in the middle of buying a whole box of pastries when Daichi goes to fill the case with their fresh bread. They make brief eye contact, and the other man offers a sheepish smile which Daichi returns before fleeing again to get to work on an anniversary cake.

That’s pretty much the extent of their interactions, since Daichi is usually too busy with his daily tasks to socialize even with his favorite regulars. Awkward eye contact, a slight bow, and then spinning on his heel while holding his now empty tray to retreat back to his baking. Nice, safe, soothing baking.

He doesn’t even know Mr. Bump’s real name, and he’s too embarrassed to ask Misaki or Hyakuzawa for it, even though they see him basically every day now. Reon has noticed the way Daichi comes power walking back into the kitchen, but doesn’t tease him any beyond a placid, knowing smile. Daichi isn’t sure _why_ Mr. Bump makes him feel so unbalanced; there are plenty of attractive people who frequent the bakery. It might be his style, or his swagger, which feeds into some latent desires left over from Daichi’s high school years. Sometimes he entertains the thought of saying hello or coming over with a casual comment about the man’s pastry order, or how he takes his coffee, but he never does. It’s just a weird work daydream, the kind of fleeting mini-crush that happens sometimes when you see someone everyday but know nothing about them.

In any case, their first two meetings set a tone too generally mortifying to be overcome, so Daichi has decided that his plan is just to set enough distance to eventually ease into a very bland customer/baker relationship. 

It’s successful until the day they launch the personal sized mango mousse cakes they’ve been testing out for a few weeks. Hyakuzawa and Akaashi are busy with making drinks and ringing people up, so Daichi is reorganizing the pastry case himself, trying to shift trays around without jostling any of Kyoutani’s delicate decorations on the cakes and tarts.

“Oh, that’s new,” someone says from above, as Daichi carefully fixes the signplate at the front. “Looks good.”

“Ah, yeah, it’s our new mango mousse cake with raspberries! We’re giving it a trial run,” he says, removing one small cake carefully. “Would you like a sample? I can cut up a few pieces.”

“Um, sure! That would be great.” Daichi finally stands to smile at his waiting customer, then finds his face frozen when he realizes it’s Mr. Bump smiling back at him. He looks as cool as ever, wearing a v-neck t-shirt that exposes a dark curl of ink near his collarbones. Daichi, meanwhile, has powdered sugar in his hair and raspberry juice on his apron. So much for a good twenty-third impression.

“R-right, of course,” Daichi says, scrambling to grab a plate and knife after an awkward moment of silence. Mr. Bump stands a respectable distance away from the counter as Daichi cuts the cake into quarters, and repeats the process with another cake. “Here, tell me what you think.” He pushes the plate forward and watches almost anxiously as the man takes a piece. It should be good; Tora’s recipes are always a hit.

Mr. Bump chews for a moment, then breaks into a smile. “Wow, I’m not usually a cake person, but this is delicious. I mean, I’m not surprised! You guys are definitely the best bakery I’ve ever been too.”

“Thanks, that’s very kind,” Daichi responds, smiling back. Okay, he can do this. Just be a normal damn baker. A professional. “We pride ourselves on always using the best ingredients and keeping our selection well-stocked with favorites and fresh with seasonal pastries.”

“Well, because of you, I’m finally the most popular guy at my shop. So I should really be thanking you.” As they smile at one another, an arm reaches across the counter and snags a cake.

“Oh hey, I’ll take one too,” Yaku says as he walks by on his way back to work. “Fanks f’r the fr’bie, D’chi-san,” he garbles out.

It’s enough of an interruption that Daichi remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, and he takes a step away from the counter. Akaashi slips seamlessly over to ask Mr. Bump what he’ll be having today, and it allows Daichi to give a polite little bow before he flees like a fugitive again. His dough isn’t done rising yet, and the guys have it covered in the back for now, so he helps make a few of the simpler espresso beverages, even though his latte art isn’t as refined as Hyakuzawa’s. 

He finishes the dusting of chocolate powder on a drink for a customer and begins preparing the next order when he hears the register ping.

“Here you go, Kuroo-san. More mouths to feed than usual today?” Akaashi asks as he hands a large box over to Mr. Bump. Daichi spares a brief glance in their direction, but can’t watch for long lest he wants to spill milk everywhere.

“Nah, I just thought it would be a waste not to let everyone know about this new cake you have. Just a fun extra treat for the shop. Not that they deserve it.”

Daichi can hear the amusement in Akaashi’s voice as he says, “Well, we hope they enjoy. See you tomorrow, Kuroo-san.”

“Have a good one, Akaashi.” As Mr. Bump passes by the Daichi’s end of the counter he gives a small smile and says, “And thank you for the sample, baker-san.” And then he lifts his left hand in a jaunty three-finger salute to Daichi before he strides out the door. The symphony of grinding coffee and steaming milk lays the backdrop of the biggest epiphany of Daichi’s life, as he watches the back of a man he’s been observing for the last month without ever actually _seeing_.

Daichi’s heart skitters to a standstill.

This man. The one with the gorgeous smile and the intricate tattoos, the one who’s been haunting Daichi’s daydreams for the last three weeks.

It’s Tetsu.

Daichi doesn’t know how he didn’t see it sooner; he has the same hazel gold eyes and an almost identical hairstyle to the one he sported as a teenager, though now it’s shaved fashionably short on the bottom. He’s only a bit taller than in Daichi’s memory, though where he wavered between fit and gangly before, he now looks comfortable in his athletic build, especially when seated on his bike.

Mr. Bump, who makes friendly conversation with Akaashi every morning, and buys a coffee for the paramedics every so often as thanks, and exchanges awkward smiles with Daichi every time they make unfortunate eye contact, is the great first love of Daichi’s dramatic teenage life. What are the chances?

Tetsu is here, all grown up and so much more than even Daichi’s dreams could have painted him. Worst of all, Tetsu still looks like a certified badass, with his motorcycle and tattoos and cool haircut. Daichi, in the meantime, has grown an inch wider in the waist than he would prefer, and spends all day whipping cream and piping tiny frosting flowers in a bakery of all places.

Not that Daichi’s ashamed of his job. Far from it. He loves what he does, and he gets along with coworkers and enjoys his regulars, but his present is so far removed from his future as he imagined it fifteen years ago, that he almost doesn’t want to try to reconnect with Tetsu, who knows the person he used to be. The person he thought he was going to be forever, back in the height of his youthful ideas. 

God, what a different time that was. Daichi is downright placid now, even if he’s still got the same reflexes and mean uppercut that he did at sixteen. No wonder Tetsu didn’t recognize him.

Daichi should leave it at that; just take his secret with him to the grave, or confide in Suga or something. But losing touch with Tetsu has been one of the greatest regrets of his life, and to let the chance slip by now would continue to haunt him with too many what-ifs. He wants to know. He _needs_ to know.

Did Tetsu spend just as many years afterward thinking about Daichi? Does Tetsu have a favorite memory of Daichi’s smile, and does he ever run his fingers over the scars on his knuckles and remember the burning of his lungs and the ache in his legs from tearing down the streets of Torono with another gang hot on their heels? Does he ever look up at the street lamps when half-buzzed on a few bottles and think about the way it felt to lean against Daichi up on the patio of Yasushi’s apartment as they sipped at their stolen alcohol.

Yasushi’s mom grew potted ferns: this, Daichi remembers. They curled long and dripping on the table next Daichi, who had to drape his arm around Tetsu’s shoulder to keep himself balanced as they watched Yasushi and Eita reenact the embarrassing scene from gym class earlier that day. The pear-yellow light from the apartment and the Kamasaki TV lit their secret spot, and the laundry on the line cast fluttering shadows across Tetsu’s face as he laughed at Eita’s impressions. Daichi felt the evening so heavily in his bones in that moment, knowing that there were only scant hours left until daylight. Tetsu looked different by moonlight, but Daichi found him striking no matter the time or place. 

It’s his eyes, Daichi thinks. Even a decade and a half apart hasn’t changed their magnetic pull on him.

He’s going to ask. Even if it doesn’t bring him any closure, even if Tetsu has forgotten him, he needs to know for himself.

Daichi finishes his current drink and Hyakuzawa comes to the bar to take over since the line has died down so that Daichi can return to the kitchen. He does so in a haze.

“Daichi-san? What’s wrong?” Yamamoto asks as he throws a washcloth into the used bin. “You’re making the ‘I burned the rolls’ face.”

“I think that kind of sums up how I feel right now, actually.” Daichi may have just burned the metaphorical rolls of his heart. Or something. 

The rest of that day passes quickly, because baking calms Daichi’s mind, even when he’s in complete turmoil like this. The next two pass quickly as well, though Daichi makes certain to only smile and wave at Tetsu when he comes in. He doesn’t quite have the nerve or the words to come forward yet.

  


On the third day since his grand realization, Daichi wakes with a weird kind of determination in his heart. Maybe it’s the dreariness of the weather, which reminds him of long-past days, or the fortifying crunch of the toast that Suga left for him from one of yesterday’s leftover loaves. Whatever it is, it leaves Daichi with a sense of purpose when he enters the quiet of Blackbird that morning.

Today, it is wet and cold out, and the bakery is much slower than would be typical at seven thirty. Asahi is in like usual, huddled in his corner and typing away furiously, as are the paramedic teams making their breakfast pit stop. Daichi is busy putting his new loaves in the oven when he hears Tetsu bidding Misaki a good morning. He gets his bread sorted and then wipes his hands nervously on his apron, telling Reon that he’s going to take a quick break now before coming back for the almond croissants in a few. Outside, Tetsu (god, Daichi can’t believe it’s really him) is chit-chatting with Misaki and Terushima about tattoos, and Daichi does a strange, quick lap around Kyoutani’s workspace before straightening his shoulders and striding out front.

As expected, Tetsu is there, leaning against the counter because there’s no one else in line right now, and gesturing wildly with one hand as he tells a story about the artist who did his tattoos. Who is apparently addicted to Blackbird’s melon pan. Daichi hangs back and helps wipe down the countertops while he waits for Misaki to finish ringing Tetsu up, and decides to finally take his chance when he notices Tetsu stepping aside with his coffee to continue chatting with Yaku and Terushima while he waits for Akaashi to put together his pastry box.

It’s go time. 

_Kuroo-san_ , Daichi starts to say, then thinks better of it. If he really wants to know, there’s an easier way to find out.

“Tetsu? Do- um, do you remember me? You still owe me a rematch.”

\--

In his second year of high school, Kuroo came to the abrupt realization that he didn’t just want to punch Sawamura Daichi’s face; he also kind of wanted to kiss it. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Daichi asked when Kuroo couldn’t stop staring at him and the bruise on his cheek that he wanted to touch. He was smiling, always half-amused, half-exasperated by Kuroo on any given day.

“Nothing, probably,” Eita teased, startling a laugh out of Yasushi, who had gone and slung an arm over Kuroo’s shoulder, dragging him down the street with them toward the abandoned lot they favored.

“I’m just thinking! About Daichi, mostly,” Kuroo told them plaintively, because there had always been some tension between the two of them, but he wasn’t the type to leave things unsaid.

“Yeah? Is it because I took the last yakisoba bread?”

“Nah, it’s because you beat him at the arcade last night,” Yasushi said, giving Kuroo a hard squeeze. “That’s why _I’ve_ been thinking about you, at least.”

Daichi laughed as he picked up a flat stone, tossing it up and down in the air. “I keep telling you not to pick characters based just on how big their muscles are!” He flicked the rock away with a quick motion, sending it through a hole in the chain link fence. 

That was Kuroo’s favorite thing about Daichi: his casually fluid movements and the understated competence with which he handled everything that came hurtling his way. It’s what remained in Kuroo’s memories long after the minutiae faded away, besides the cut of Daichi’s grin when the punches started flying.

Kuroo now recognizes that all the things that seemed familiar that first day at Blackbird are but shades of these unforgettable details, these pieces of Daichi that he could never let go of. Even now, they’re starting to come back to him in full color, filling in the mental pencil sketch he started drawing of baker-san since their first meeting.

“Tetsu? Do- um, do you remember me? You still owe me a rematch,” baker-san says, those pretty, dark eyes of his betraying some uncharacteristic jitters, and Kuroo’s autonomic nervous system makes his heart kick into double time the way it used to always do around Daichi. The same way it still does, apparently.

Kuroo stays stupidly silent for long enough that baker-san — _Daichi_ , and how completely obvious it seems; he has the same expressive eyes and easy smile, but he’s...uh...certainly filled out over the last however many years — follows up his first question with the words, “Uh, we used to beat the shit out of each other when we were kids?”

“Wait, what?” says Terushima from an infinity away.

“Yeah, _what_?” agrees Ennoshita.

“I- uh.” Why is Kuroo’s mouth so dry? Why does Daichi still make him stupid in the brain and soft in the knees with just a look and a sentence? He looks at the iced coffee in his hands and pops the plastic top off before chugging the remains as quickly as he can. He almost chokes on a piece of ice and ends up swallowing it whole. Daichi is still watching him nervously, and Kuroo crushes the cup in his hands even though it’s still full of ice, and says, “I mean, that makes it sound worse than it really was. We beat up other people way more than we beat up each other.” Jeez, years of stewing over what he’d like to say to charm his way back into Daichi’s life if they were to meet, and this is what he goes with?

Daichi blinks at him, before glancing at the wet mess of cold coffee and cream dripping out of his fist and replying, “That’s true, we didn’t fight nearly so much after first year. I guess you learned after the first eight times I whooped your ass.” Gone is the kindly, professional demeanor of the neighborhood baker. Torono’s fiercest bruiser is still in there, under the powdery apron and the lingering scent of butter and vanilla. Someone gasps. Kuroo thinks it might be Misaki or Yamamoto, now hovering in the door to the kitchen. 

With a jerk, Kuroo straightens up to his full height, and leans toward Daichi, who is still blessedly a head shorter than him, even now. Good. Kuroo always liked their height difference. “You’re completely skewing the past! I wrecked you just as many times, if not more, and I certainly didn’t end up in the infirmary half as many times as you did-”

Daichi _laughs_ , that bastard, and it sounds exactly how Kuroo remembered: loud and cheerful and a little bit dry. It makes Kuroo’s heart stutter. He plants his hands on the counter and tilts his face to really drink in Kuroo’s appearance with those shrewd eyes. Kuroo wonders how he must look to him now.

“Who used to bandage your cuts, Tetsu? Who used to help splint your fingers after you smashed them against some amateur’s skull?” He gives Kuroo that insufferable grin that he used to wear after they scared some group back into hiding with their faces and egos bruised. Kuroo feels a hard rush of that old punch or kiss instinct and it’s like being transported back to being seventeen and recklessly alive again.

“Were they in some kind of fight club as kids?” Kuroo hears Yaku mutter to his partner.

“I don’t know, but I really wish I had my camera right now,” Ennoshita says. Matsukawa floats over from out of nowhere, chewing loudly on a cream puff.

“Eita did, you asshole,” Kuroo snarks back, refusing to fall for the bait. Daichi was never the better provocateur between the two of them, no matter what clever tricks he used. “You should know; he had to tape up that smart mouth of yours often enough. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without blood on your face in fifteen years.” 

“It’s the first time you’ve seen me at all in fifteen years, you dork,” Daichi says with the always-exasperated fondness he only seemed to reserve for Kuroo. And the spell of battlelust and adrenaline breaks and they’re just Daichi and Tetsu, wayward youths with too much loyalty and not enough guidance in their lives, looking at each other with a wordless familiarity that can’t be described through anything but id and emotion and a handful of bruised-knuckle memories that no one else will ever understand.

Kuroo finally remembers where and when he is, and takes a breath, trying to think of the decade’s worth of things he’s always wanted to say to Daichi on the miniscule chance that they found each other again. But his hand is cold with melting ice and Daichi is heartbreakingly just as beautiful as he was, just with flour on his skin instead of gravel in his cuts, so all the words trickle away and he’s left grasping at reality, just trying to make sure that any of this is even happening.

 _We can have it all_ , Daichi used to say. _We can be anything we want, go anywhere we want. What do you want, Tetsu?_

 _I want to stay with you_ , Tetsu could never say, so it was always, _I want to take back what’s ours_ or _I want them to remember our names even when we’re gone_ instead.

And then it was _I want to find you again_. _I want to know if you still think about me_.

_I want to have what I was never brave enough to ask for._

“Daichi? I-is it seriously you?” His voice cracks slightly. Dreadful. This is like a scene out of one of those silly dramas that Kenma’s mom likes to watch, or a goofy cellphone novel.

It was a little hard to reconcile the Daichi of his childhood — sly, sturdy, and responsible, but easily provoked — with the shy, harried baker Kuroo saw scuttling around for the last three weeks, but this whole brouhaha just now proves that he’s still the same old troublemaker Kuroo knew and loved as a high schooler.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Daichi says with a shake of his head. “You’re so...I mean, we were always kind of wild, but you really grew into it, Tetsu. You- you look good,” he says clearly, his tan skin showing just the faintest hint of a blush.

“You’re even hotter than I remembered,” Kuroo responds, like the smooth goddamn operator that he is.

“Shit, going right for it, Kuroo-san, good for you,” Terushima mutters. Shimizu, standing next to him and a very shocked looking Asahi, sips silently at her iced milk tea.

“That didn’t work on me when I was an impressionable high schooler, and it definitely isn’t going to work on me now,” Daichi says, amused. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the countertop, which shows off his absurd arms. Damn. 

Kuroo pouts slightly, jamming his not-wet hand in his jacket pocket. “I don’t understand why. I’m charming. I thought you thought so too. We always kind of had a thing, didn’t we?” It’s a joke, except for the part where it isn’t. Kuroo always did want to be more to Daichi than he was. It’s too bad he couldn’t admit it out loud until it was too late.

Daichi lets him mope for a few seconds before drawling out, “I guess we did! I always wondered if I was the only one who thought so.” This time, even Shimizu gasps a little.

“I- um, no?” Kuroo stutters, somehow caught off guard by Daichi’s attack, even though he used to know all the moves in his arsenal. “You know it was the four of us all the way, but you were different, Daichi. Special. You still are.”

Unexpectedly, Daichi flushes at this, something he never would have done before, which serves as a reminder that it’s been so long that they’re not quite the same people they used to know. But instead of being disappointed, Kuroo feels a electric thrill at being able to see this new side of him.

He isn’t sure what direction to take this conversation in now: continue to be candid about what it was like wondering if they’d ever reconnect again, or keep things light and simple, so as not to scare Daichi away?

Yaku decides for him. “So,” he says after taking a sip from his cup, “I get that you two used to be yankees together or whatever, but what does that make you now?”

“That’s a bit blunt,” Shimizu murmurs, and Kuroo has to agree. 

But instead of getting more flustered, Yaku’s comment almost seems to break the ice for Daichi, who grins and says, “You know, I’m not sure? But I think I’d like to find out. If that’s okay with you, Kuroo-san.”

The name sounds so alien coming from Daichi’s mouth, and Kuroo makes a face. “That’s more than okay, as long as you don’t call me Kuroo-san again. I know things are different now, that we’ve both changed a lot, but I’d like to think I’m still your Tetsu in the ways that matter.”

“I think so too,” Daichi says, like it might really be that easy. Like this not-quite-routine encounter on a rainy morning hasn’t just shifted Kuroo’s whole world slightly off-kilter, or perhaps back into alignment. But he catches the slight wideness to Daichi’s eyes, and the clench of his fingers on the countertop, and remembers that he isn’t the only one learning to reconcile the old with the new. This might be as big a deal to Daichi as it is to Kuroo. Now isn’t the time to just let this opportunity slip away. 

Not again.

“Then, if it’s not too fast, let me take you to dinner. Or out for a drink. We can even go to a real bar together for the first time.” 

“What, contraband beer in an abandoned lot not good enough for you anymore?”

“We’re a little classier than that now, aren’t we?”

“One of us might be. The other one still pours chips straight into his mouth right from the bag.”

“Disgusting,” Kuroo says, delighted. “You’re still a monster, after all these years.”

“I guess people don’t really change, after all. Even if their looks say otherwise,” Daichi replies as he gives Kuroo a slow once-over. Kuroo definitely doesn’t preen.

“Stop flirting and just say yes, Daichi-san,” Terushima hollers, before Matsukawa slaps a hand over his mouth, still chewing all the while. Somehow he manages to make eating a cream puff look like the most vigorous activity in existence. Kuroo had almost forgotten how very public this entire reunion has been.

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it for Terushima,” Daichi jokes as he straightens back up. “We can exchange details and work it out? We’ve already held you here long enough.”

It’s really happening. Kuroo swallows, and says with his signature grin, “Sounds good.”

Akaashi is by Daichi’s side before Kuroo even realizes he was still here the whole time. He places Kuroo’s pastry box on the counter, and slides a pen and scrap of receipt paper over to Daichi.

“Your pastries, Kuroo-san. Also, do you want a napkin for that?” Akaashi asks as he gestures at Kuroo’s hand, still dripping with coffee.

“Ah. No, I’ll take care of it myself.” Akaashi’s mouth twitches into a slight smile, and Kuroo scuttles to the condiment bar to clean himself up while Daichi writes his contact information down. Luckily, their audience senses that the scene has come to end and disperses back to their corner, like Asahi, or out the door to do their jobs, like the flock of paramedics finally leaving to go to work and Yamamoto retreating back to the kitchen. The store is still fairly dead, so there’s mostly just Misaki and Akaashi there to witness the embarrassing grin that overtakes him when Daichi hands over the piece of paper with his number and email on it.

“I’ll call you?” he says like a question, making the gesture with his hands.

Daichi, brighter than the day itself, gives Kuroo one last grin before returning to the back. Kuroo watches him walk away, and the sight seeps into that final memory of seeing Daichi roughed up and restrained (but not defeated, never that), changing that nostalgic yearning, that faded regret, into something new. A flower blooming through the cracked pavement.

\--

Tetsu and Daichi are both too busy with work for the next few days to actually get together in person, though they’ve been texting plenty and having a brief, spirited conversation each morning when Daichi has a few minutes to spare away from the kitchen.

They catch up on matters both small and large, but they haven’t managed to set up a time to meet. Nor has Daichi managed to figure out what exactly Tetsu does now, besides “work at a shop uptown,” but he figures Tetsu will tell him eventually. Maybe he’s secretly a high powered banker or a law professor or something, and doesn’t want to make Daichi feel weird about it.

Their conversations all toe the line between familiar fondness and flirting, which just feels like the natural extension of the dynamic they used to have. Daichi had been nervous, at first, that perhaps too much had changed, that this would be a flash in the pan reconnection that would fade out into a warm but distant kind of acquaintanceship. But once they get going it’s like falling backwards in time, straight back to the konbinis at midnight and the steep, winding streets of Eita’s neighborhood. It’s throwing rice crackers at each other on the roof at school and making sly eye contact over their English books across the room from each other when the clock is about to hit 3 p.m. Tetsu is still quick and knowledgeable and a secret nerd. Daichi still wants to know everything about him, both old and new.

So it’s with only slight apprehension that he makes the decision on Wednesday to go surprise Tetsu at his workplace. Daichi has his first day off in a long time, and h fully intends to use it wisely. At the very least, maybe they can catch lunch together.

Before leaving Blackbird the day before, he got up the nerve to ask if any of the front of house staff happened to know where Tetsu actually worked. 

“If I’m remembering correctly, Kuroo-san works at a tattoo parlor near the sports park. Off the green line bus? At least, that’s where he brings all his food every morning,” Akaashi offered up, and so Daichi searches it up on his phone as he sits at his kitchen counter, eating some dry cereal with his hands, which Suga hates from the bottom of his heart.

The tattoo parlor is only about a ten minute bus ride from their apartment, so Daichi heads out at around eleven after doing some much needed cleaning around the kitchen and his room. Tetsu already knows he doesn’t have work today, but Daichi let him believe that he’d just be staying at home and doing errands all day.

Even though it’s warm out, he still feels a slight shiver as he goes to push open the door of the parlor. Maybe it’s just a chill in the air, but he thinks it might be anticipation. Just An Inkling is brightly lit and fairly spacious, with art on the walls and a man standing at the desk by the front door, working on a sketch.

There’s one patron in a chair getting a piece done on his arm, and a few employees in the shop, but Tetsu is nowhere to be seen. Daichi steps up to the counter, holding his box in front of his chest. He stopped by Blackbird before heading out, grabbing a few assorted pastries and wheedling Reon into making him a few of his special off-the-menu matcha cream horns. The man at the desk, who has too-spiky hair and a friendly face, grins when Daichi approaches.

“Hey hey! What can I do for you today?”

“Hi,” Daichi says, unable to stop himself from smiling back. This must be one of the many friends Tetsu is always feeding every day. “I was looking for Kuroo? Sorry, I’m not here to get anything done- I just wanted to surprise him.”

The man’s eyebrows crease together in confusion. “Kuroo? He was in earlier, but he should be- whoa, wait a sec, is that from Blackbird?” he asks when he spots the box in Daichi’s hands.

“Oh, yes, I’m a baker there? I should’ve introduced myself, sorry! I’m-”

“The hot baker!” the man blurts, slapping his hands to his cheeks. Instantaneously, everyone in the shop not currently inking someone up turns to look at Daichi like he’s something to be marveled at. “You’re Kuroo’s Daichi!”

“Uh, I guess I am!” Daichi says nervously back, but the man smiles even wider, and claps Daichi on the shoulder.

“It’s great to finally see the genius behind our delicious breakfast. Well, one of them at least! Man, I gotta finally go see this bakery of yours for myself.”

“We’d be happy to have you.”

“I’m Bokuto by the way. It’s great to finally meet you.” He sticks out his hand for a solid handshake. 

“It’s good to meet you to! I was wondering when I’d finally get to see Te- Kuroo’s coworkers!”

Bokuto tilts his head slightly, as he says, “Coworkers? Oh, no, Kuroo works-”

“Here! In this shop!” yells a young man with short-buzzed hair, sitting on a nearby chair. “As a tattoo artist!”

“Where he works, obviously!” chirps a fluttery looking blond girl.

Bokuto’s eyebrows crinkle again before his expression suddenly clears and he turns back to Daichi to fervently tell him, “Right! Haha, stupid me, forgetting one of my own guys! I’m such an airhead!”

“Right,” Daichi says dryly, because they’re not suspicious of course. Not at all. “It’s nice of you guys to try and cover for him, but I see now that my intel was wrong. Any idea of where he actually is? You can still have the goods even if you don’t tell me,” he says, lifting the box.

There’s a moment of indecision before Bokuto sighs and shakes his head. “Nah, you better bring those to his actual coworkers. I don’t want Saeko-nee squaring up against us. He’s next door, but don’t tell him we told you, okay? I think maybe he was trying to keep up some kind of bad boy image around you.”

“Really?” Daichi raises his eyebrows, but opens up his box and parcels out a stack of almond cookies on a napkin. “Here, at least take these. I mean, it’s not like I expected him to be the same person he was when we were kids. Besides, I wouldn’t judge; I spend my whole day making croissants.” 

“I guess he just thinks really highly of your opinion,” Bokuto says with the air of someone who knows Tetsu well, and it makes Daichi smile. He’s glad to be able to meet the people in Tetsu’s life.

“Thanks for letting me know. I won’t sell you out,” Daichi says with a wink, and makes to leave. Everyone except the man currently at work waves his out, and then he’s standing on the sidewalk, trying to figure out which of two businesses could be Tetsu’s workplace.

On the left is an insurance agency, which could be possible except that Daichi knows Tetsu always leaves from the bakery in casual clothes, and everyone in the store is wearing suits. So he turns to look on the right, where a quaint little flower shop stands. The hanging sign says Moonflower, and there’s a sandwich board outside with a chalk drawing of tulips and an advertisement for Mother’s Day bouquets. Through the window he can see a rainbow of different blooms, and as he steps closer, he suddenly sees a shock of dark hair appear as Tetsu rises up from the floor, cradling a bundle of golden chrysanthemums in his arms. He’s smiling at someone else in the shop, and wearing a green apron instead of his signature motorcycle jacket. Daichi feels his chest is bursting with sudden warmth, to see Tetsu so clearly at home in this lovely shop.

A bell chimes overhead when Daichi enters Moonflower, and a bespectacled young man gives Daichi a quiet welcome as he passes by with the chrysanthemums that Tetsu was just holding. 

“Please let Kuroo-san know if you need anything,” he says, and Daichi nods to him as he heads to the counter. 

Tetsu is kneeling on the floor again, inspecting some anemones, but he glances up to greet Daichi and his eyes widen comically when he realizes who it is.

“I see you have an apron too,” Daichi says, watching as he stands up, already pink and flustered.

“Daichi! I didn’t expect- how did you even- I mean, uh.” Tetsu leans coolly against the one bare spot of the wall and gestures around the store. “Welcome. To my store. Where the magic happens!” He’s playing nonchalant but Daichi can see the way he’s anxiously twisting a fallen leaf in his fingers.

“It’s beautiful, Tetsu. I’m serious,” Daichi says when Tetsu makes his skeptical face. “I don’t know the first thing about flowers, but you were always good at this kinda thing: biology, memorization. Making nice things.” Tetsu used to be quite handy at origami, and would spend a lot of class time surreptitiously folding tiny frogs and birds and foxes under his desk.

Tetsu finally relaxes when Daichi just keeps smiling at him. “You’re not...weirded out? By how...tame my job is?” Daichi looks around at the hundreds of bright and vibrant flowers, and back at Tetsu, who has a few stray pink petals on his shoulder.

“Honestly, I kind of think it suits you. Are you weirded out that I became a baker?”

“No! I think it’s wonderful. You were always so smart but so stressed; I’m glad you found something that you enjoy doing.” He says it with so much feeling that Daichi can’t help the surge of affection that swoops through his chest. 

“Exactly. I get why you didn’t want to tell me, but I’m genuinely impressed, Tetsu. You’ll have to teach me about flowers sometime.”

“Of course,” Tetsu replies, always game for whatever Daichi drags him into. They both glance down at the pastry box in Daichi’s hands, and he follow it up with, “If you’ll teach me how to bake something more exciting than cookies. I know it’s all just chemistry, but I could use your expertise.”

“Definitely,” Daichi promises, and they both break into a grin, because things like this had never been complicated between them, and they apparently still aren’t. Tetsu looks so radiant under the ceiling lamps that Daichi has to reach up and pinch his face so that he doesn’t kiss him instead, right in the sight of anyone passing by.

“Ow, mean,” he complains, and Daichi laughs.

“Sorry, the other thing I wanted to do didn’t seem appropriate for the workplace. Meet me for lunch today?” Tetsu rubs at his cheek, turning slightly red again when he figures out the meaning of Daichi’s words, and he nods.

“That would be fantastic. Let me just tell Kei.”

Tetsu disappears into the back with Daichi’s pastry box, and speaks to the other employees for a moment. Daichi can hear the sharp cackle of a woman as Tetsu hurries back out front and grabs Daichi’s hand to rush him out the door.

“Quickly, before the vultures try and get a piece of you,” he says as they push outside.

“They can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, you don’t even know, Daichi. Let’s keep you out of their clutches as long as possible. Away from Bokuto too.”

“Alright,” Daichi says with a laugh as Tetsu pulls him along, still at a light jog. “Where are we going?”

Tetsu looks over and that same old electric current passes between them as their eyes meet. “Anywhere, Daichi. We can do anything we want, right?”

Daichi grins. “Anything, Tetsu.”


End file.
